Having been in a lockdown, probably about to go into another lockdown with the benefit of not driving on any motorways for an age, avoiding highly populated towns and cities because lets face it, the high street is fucked, my only driving issues have been with Massey Fergusson and Fendt, mostly transporting potatoes for gin and apples for cider, which to the drinkers who care, may give a clue to where I spend most of my time.
So a trip into the outskirts of Brum, was filled with a wonderful naivity of open roads and empty pathways. Not so, it was raining buckets and cars and other such mobile metal monsters of potential destruction were everywhere. I had to concentrate very hard. We journeyed into Brimingham because we are/have to buy a car for my daughter who is shortly turning 17, she cant drive ours being company cars so its the only way. I spent the day crouching down looking down the length of the car, opening the bonnet and kicking tyres, having a view that this is how car selection is done. When I chose my car I asked the kids what they wanted, daughter wanted leather seats, son a sun roof. And the colour? Blue. So I then went back to my work car selection page to see what the best fit was. Turns out a Honda HRV, its good but looks like a herd of sheep live there. My view is to keep the car looking like a shed and no one will steal it. Thus far I’m right, but to be honest if they stole it (the enemy) then who cares, life is too short to worry about cars belonging to someone else. If I could do my job walking I would, driving to the shop right now is a massive ball ache, 15 years of getting into the car every day to get a news paper, fags, milk and bread being the main offenders (no more cigarettes, i’m vaping like a child now) but life will soon be very different, moving to Clifton (hopefully) where there is a shop and 2 pubs and a garage is going to change my life as much as the soft close toilet seat did. Watch me as I bathe in a pool of ecstasy which is a short stroll to the local shop for local people.
Anyway, a hateful day of fakery led to tiredness and relaxing in front of my record player in the company of Nancy Sinatra, Lee Hazlewood and the Carpenters, not in the same room although that would be amazing. Just drifting off I was awoken by the familiar and dreaded noise of a dozy wasp, throwing into the lampshade area and then pinging around the fucking rim. I’m allergic to the buggers and so left it settle, waiting only for a few minutes when I promptly sucked him up into the belly of Henry the hoover (thats a brand not a pet name for an inanimate object, i’m not 20).
Gazing through the prism of life i’d say that this wasp would rather be listening to Can, they’re not into easy listening i’d wager.